I have been working exclusively from home since the end of 2011.
“That’s awesome,” I hear you all say. “You’re so lucky! The freedom! The flexibility! The pyjamas!“
Not so, internet friends.
It is officially unhealthy for me to live, study, and work at home. At first, of course, I loved it. If I’m honest, for the first year I loved it.
Lately, though, I’ve been feeling a pull back to the Real World – a world in which I have to wake up at a particular time and get dressed into something other than a clean pair of PJ pants, in which I can’t schedule lunches with friends that turn into ridiculous five-hour-long drinking sessions (to be fair, though, I haven’t done that in many years), in which I have to uphold a certain level of acceptable appearance.
Basically, internet, I feeling uuuuugly.
I’m not one to give too much of a shit about the way that I look. I’m not precious about anything, really. I’ve had exactly two manicures in my life, and they were both in Bali last month. I’ve had my hair dyed in a salon once, and I haven’t dyed it at all this year, despite the increasing wash of greys at my temple. (And I wonder why I think I look old…)
My eyebrows are six-months unplucked (although, thankfully, ten years of over-plucking mean that I’m not growing a sexy monobrow… yet), I haven’t had a shower yet today and it’s 4pm (true story), and I’m wearing an outfit that could really only be described as stay-at-home-mum chic… Except I’m not running around after toddlers all day. I’m not running around after anything, in fact, and that’s why I’ve managed to acquire myself a casual 10 extra kilos this year.
Another true story.
don’t worry. this makes me just as embarrassed as it makes you.
The thing is, it’s not a matter of me being lazy or anything. I’m not lazy. I have most of a PhD written, and multiple jobs. It’s just that none of these things require me to leave my house, and I am going bonkers. It’s taking every fibre of my being to stop myself from spending my days lurking job boards looking for the job of my dreams*.
*Note that ‘job of my dreams’ doesn’t actually involve having a conventional job at all. If it were possible I’d just make traveling and writing my profession, but not yet, young ones. Not yet.
It all returns to that stinking, rotten ol’ chestnut of my thesis, though, doesn’t it? Once that’s done I can Do Other Things in the Real World with Actual People (caps necessary).
And perhaps then I’ll be motivated to do other things, too. Like fix up my hair, and shower before midday, and spend time being active with other human beings, and wear something without an elasticated waist. Maybe.
(Who even am I?)